


Eighty-two dollars and photo ID

by Sheffield



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, None - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheffield/pseuds/Sheffield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you know that San Francisco is marrying same sex couples?  I'll bet our heroes would have noticed, too</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eighty-two dollars and photo ID

## Eighty-two dollars and photo ID

by Sheffield

Author's website:  <http://www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Station/9742/index.html>

None of the characters or situations in this story belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended or money being made: this is fanfic.

Inspired by (and with eye witness accounts stolen from) Jed Hartman's blog at http://www.kith.org/logos/journal/show-entry.php?Entry_ID=1795 and its linked articles. 

Unmitigated smarm.

* * *

"Get in the car, Sandburg," Sandburg said. Jim felt his lip twitch convulsively but he was a big bad ex-Ranger, wasn't he? He'd been expensively trained to withstand interrogation, up to and including torture, from equally expensively trained experts. So a little harassment from his partner. Roommate. Soulmate. Whatever. Ought to be nothing at all. Right? "I mean, 'Get in the car, Sandburg!' That's all. No explanation, not even a 'please'. I must be crazy. No, I've got it, _you_ must be crazy. No, that's not it, you're a pod person... you're Jim Ellison's evil twin... you're a crook who Jim put in jail and you've spent the last ten years having really detailed plastic surgery so your face looks exactly like his, and I've been kidnapped. Help! Help! My partner's evil twin has kidnapped me..." You'd think he'd run out of breath some time. The diner that Brown had told him about must be coming up pretty soon. Yes, there it was. Jim pulled in, wondering if a cup of coffee would stem the flow of Sandburg bitching, moaning, whining and general complaining. "You realise," No, coffee AND doughnuts weren't enough to daunt the - well, dauntless, he supposed - Sandburg monologue. "I have four different classes on a Monday? Not to mention that two of them are paying gigs at the PD, which will chip another microscopic speck off of the Student Loan that Ate Cascade, right? I mean, there are all kinds of reasons why I don't have time to take a road trip with you, Jim, even if you would actually speak to me and tell me where we're going instead of doing strong-and-silent Mr Mysterious." He didn't pause for breath but he did change tack alarmingly fast, suddenly narrowing his eyes and fixing Jim with a piercing look. "Jim. Tell me _now_. _Are we going to Vegas_????" Jim's lip twitched again. Two hours and fifty seven minutes more of this, and one or other of them was going to be quite insane. 

# 

Sandburg went quiet somewhere around the city limits, and went completely _in shock not daring to breathe_ quiet as they got nearer to City Hall. 

# 

When Jim pulled into the hotel garage Sandburg wasn't moving, was scarcely breathing. Jim decided to stick with tried and true strategies. "Get OUT of the car, Sandburg," he deadpanned. He hefted the bag, took Sandburg by the upper arm, and set him moving towards reception. He checked them in, pushed Sandburg into the elevator, and got them up to the room. 

Sandburg was still utterly silent. In a good way, he thought - eyes sparkling, still not daring to breathe, like a kid on Christmas morning, afraid that it was all a dream. Jim unceremoniously dumped the two tuxes out of the bag and started to strip off his shirt. "Well? Get changed, Sandburg."  
Simple orders seemed to work best, either with talks-the-hind-leg-off-a-donkey Sandburg or zombie-silent-petrified Sandburg. They changed into tuxedos, then Jim calmly handed Sandburg the leather hair tie he liked, the one with the silver wolf token on it, and, when his partner didn't move, took the hairbrush from the case, gently brushed his partner's hair, and tied it back. He stepped next to him, checked them both out in the mirror. Damn but they looked a handsome couple. "OK Sandburg, we set?"  
"Set?"  
"You got photo id?"  
Sandburg looked bereft but Jim, following his careful plan, simply tucked Sandburg's battered passport into Sandburg's tuxedo pocket. "Come on Sandburg. All we need is eighty-two dollars and photo id. OK?" Sandburg shook his head, as if he had suddenly been woken up - by, say, his partner thoughtfully pouring a bucket of water over his head. "All we need is eighty-two dollars and photo id? Ellison, what the hell kind of a cheap date do you think I am? I wanted to go to Vegas, but, no, you have to drive us down to San Francisco..." "Blair."  
Jim silenced his partner, once and for all, by the simple act of falling to one knee. "Will you marry me? Right here? Right now?" There was silence but for the music of the spheres. 

# 

They really did only need eighty-two dollars and photo id. That, and a one page form, bought them a place on the list, and then their time came and... 

Of course. Naomi hadn't been easy to contact, but in the eight hours that Jim had been thinking about it, researching it, pulling a few strings to get Simon to give him a week's leave and pulling a few more to get Sandburg liberated from the classes he taught at the U, the classes he taught at the Police Academy, the appointments he had as a civilian consultant anthropologist to the police department and to Ellison Incorporated, not to mention the six hours it had taken them to drive down from Seattle to San Francisco and the two hours they had been in line after they had filled in the form, well, Naomi had prioritised. So when they walked into the little room they didn't need any of the volunteer witnesses to help them out. Because Naomi witnessed for Blair and Stephen Ellison - who had taken the corporate jet, and by the way brought William, Simon, Taggert, Brown, Rafe, Rhonda and Megan plus Bill and Becca, Sandburg's TAs - stood up for Jim. 

Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg were formally married by the City of San Francisco on Sunday 15th February 2004, after five years together, in preparation for a lifetime. 

They stepped outside, blinking. 

About two hundred people - supporters, well-wishers, people who'd already been through the ceremony, people who'd just come by to cheer - were cheering everyone who came down the steps. Someone had lined the stairs with roses. Someone else offered them a box of brownies by way of wedding cake. Some other people towards the front of the crowd threw confetti, rice, and rose petals. Cars were honking as they went by, and then a tour bus cruised slowly past with everyone on board either snapping pictures or else smiling and waving; and some doing both. 

Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg held up their marriage license in its clear plastic envelope and were thoroughly kodak-ed by their friends and by the crowd of cheerful strangers. 

"Thank you," breathed Sandburg.  
"They'll overturn them all, I'll bet, in a week." Jim said gloomily. "Doesn't matter." Sandburg finished off his brownie and licked his fingers. "It hasn't mattered for the past five years, and it won't make any difference to the next fifty. We'll always be different, always have to stand up for ourselves, rely on our friends to support us. And we'll always win." Jim slowly turned up his hearing and listened out to the noises of the crowd. He picked up a random snippet of conversation and smiled. "What?" Sandburg asked.  
It felt right, so Jim repeated it word for word. "It makes me wonder: what _else_ can we just go ahead and do?" 

* * *

End Eighty-two dollars and photo ID by Sheffield: sheffield@couchspud.freeserve.co.uk

Author and story notes above.

  
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